


To Be Your Equal

by xtremis



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Gwaine likes to talk, Gwen deserves better, Mentions of Morgana, Merlin being Merlin, Merlin is tired of your shit Destiny, Minor Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Mordred has feelings, Oblivious Arthur, Remember the crazy times when Morgana was liked in Camelot?, The Knights are fond of Merlin, The townsfolk are fond of Merlin, Well semi-oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:52:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtremis/pseuds/xtremis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin swallows thickly, revisiting the vision again. He sees the battlefield and the final blow. The cruel smirk on Mordred's lips and the dead stare in his eyes. He feels sick. And this is how a destiny begins to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. destiny

The changing of a destiny starts like this;

The King and his knights and Merlin are on a routine investigation into a lead on Morgana. The castle they are pointed to is old and weathered and as much a ruin as her previous hideaways. There is no sign of her being there currently, but there are signs of previous occupation and quick clearance. They split up, and Merlin finds himself in the group with the newer knights. With Mordred.

Arthur sent him off with a pointed stare and Gwaine made a crack about keeping the duckling in line. Mordred took the lead and Merlin followed at the back. Everything seemed normal until the third corridor. A loose stone sent one of the knights stumbling into a wall and started a chain reaction of events, beginning with the crumbling of the wall and ending with Merlin and Mordred trapped in a side room in the floor below.

What starts as an argument about using magic to escape escalates, as many of the interactions between the two so often do, into an argument about what Mordred truly wants in Camelot.

And this is how a destiny begins to change.

-

“All I have wanted was to be considered your equal! To be considered worth your time!” The scream is torn from Mordred’s throat and Merlin’s blood runs cold. The words are ones he is painfully familiar with, though he has never said them explicitly. And yet he is already laughing, even as he takes note of the wet shine to the druid’s eyes.

“How can we ever be equal when you seek the death of the King I live to serve? You will never be my equal by any means. The only time I spend on you will be to stop your inevitable betrayal.” His words are harsh, biting in their attempt to force Mordred to anger. Anger is easier to deal with than what Mordred is threatening to unleash. Anger would give him cause to scowl and glare and glower from afar for the next week or so. But the druid does the opposite of what Merlin wants, as he is prone to do these days.

Mordred flinches against the stone wall, as if Merlin had physically hit him. His expression is raw, open in a way it hasn't been since he entered Camelot’s walls and was deemed a knight. He seems to struggle for breath for a few moments, eyes fixed on Merlin’s. Guilt pools in the warlock’s gut, but he forces himself to ignore the acidic sting. He could not pity the man who would one day bring Arthur to his knees on the battlefield.

“All I have-,” Mordred’s voice breaks and he hiccups a laugh; an ugly, painful noise that makes Merlin want to look away, “All I have done was to get you to notice me. I came to Camelot for you, Emrys. Not for Arthur or some foretold future or for a destiny I don’t want!”

And Merlin can hear the truth in the scream, even as Mordred’s magic flares up, slamming him into the wall. He pushes back and breaks the hold easily, and Mordred laughs that painful laugh again, sliding to the floor like the fight has simply drained from him. Merlin watches, emotions and reason and logic and fact warring inside him in a battle to be the dominant driving force of his actions.

 

Silence falls for the moment, and Merlin watches with an almost detached horror as tears fall from Mordred’s eyes.

 

“I grew up on stories of you, Emrys. Tales of the mighty warlock who would return magic to the lands once more.” The silence is broken by Mordred’s quiet words. The heels of his palms are pressed over his eyes, though the tear tracks linger on his pale cheeks. “And then I met you, and you were more than I could have hoped for; more than I dreamed of. And you let me live. Where others would have killed me. You let me live.” Mordred trails off, shaking slightly. Shame curls next to the guilt in Merlin’s stomach.

“You were a child.” Even as the words leave his lips they taste like ash. Like an excuse he barely means. Mordred doesn't react for a moment and then,

“So you will save the child yet condemn the man.” It’s not a question. The statement seems hollow, and Merlin swallows thickly, revisiting the vision again. He sees the battlefield and the final blow. The cruel smirk on Mordred’s lips and the dead stare in his eyes.

He feels sick.

“I don’t know what I'm doing.” He laughs as he says it, sliding down the wall until he’s seated on the ground like Mordred. They feel like the most honest words he’s spoken in a long time and he doesn't know where they came from. He’s just so tired.

The past years of his life have been one destiny fuelled action after another, to keep Arthur safe, keep Camelot standing, keep Morgana at bay, keep Arthur from knowing the truth, keep Arthur’s view on magic as neutral as possible, keep Arthur’s enemies at bay, keep Arthur from becoming cruel and jaded. Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.

And Merlin loves him. Loves him like a brother, like a vital part of his own being, loves him almost like he loves his magic. But there is only so far love will go to keep oneself sane. There are times when all that Merlin wants is to scream until he is hoarse that he has magic. When Merlin wants to tell Arthur the truth, tell Camelot the truth and have it be known that magic can save people. Has saved people.

But each time he thinks he might be able to Morgana appears with a new scheme, or a mercenary group attack outlying villagers using magic to help. And he can’t. He can’t tell Arthur of his magic after such ill fortunes.

There’s a smile on his lips now, but it feels wrong, twisted somehow. He can’t bring himself to care. Mordred’s eyes are still hidden and Merlin watches a spot on the wall above his right shoulder. If he doesn't think too hard he can pretend he’s talking to himself, as if Mordred isn't in the room to hear his darkest secrets.

“Kilgharrah wanted me to kill you. Wants me to kill you. Destiny. Fate. Wanted you dead several times over.” Broken sentences are the best he can do. He’s never given voice to these words before, has kept them locked away in the far corners of his mind. Mordred is frozen now, the shaking stopped. “I said no. That you could change. Would change. With second chances. I didn't like the sound of destiny. Or Fate. Fought them. For too long I suppose. Arthur was my destiny. Is my destiny. And you are his doom. And he shall be his downfall. Whichever happens first. Destiny doesn't care much.”

“Why?” It’s a barely spoken word, breathed out on an exhale. It could be questioning any of his previous words but Merlin doesn't ask for elaboration. He saw when Mordred’s shoulders tensed.

“Destiny. Vision from seers who meddle. Who die. Are dead. You kill him. Arthur. And I can’t stop it. Kilgharrah says I should have killed you. But you were a child. Small. Young. I remember my mother used to make excuses, fanciful and believable both when I was that old. Merlin has too much energy. Merlin’s got an eye for decoration, the plate didn't match. All to stop people recognizing my magic. But you were young and secure and I. I wanted you to have that security. Knowing your magic was known and wouldn't be betrayed.”

Merlin pauses. His thoughts wander for a moment before returning with startling clarity.

“Destiny became everything I suppose. Make sure Arthur can fulfil his. Make sure Arthur lives to fulfil his. Make sure Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.” A bitter edge has crept into his voice so he stops, breathing deep and looking to Mordred once more. The druid watches him openly, eyes wide. He swallows once, twice before he can speak.

“Why are you telling me this?” Merlin shrugs, watching the way light from a shuttered window plays against Mordred’s hair.

“I'm tired of destiny.”

\--

They’re found nearly an hour later, the trail a dead end. The journey back is filled with good natured ribbing from the other knights about getting trapped in a side room, and for the first time since Mordred’s arrival in Camelot Merlin laughed along with the teasing in his presence.

After that things… changed.

Not in a drastically noticeable way at least. The tension that used to grip Merlin’s shoulders whenever Mordred was near fades, but since no-one had noticed the tension before it was simply dismissed as Merlin finally warming to the youngest knight. The tension didn't leave the warlock however; it simply found a new target.

Now there was a hesitance around Arthur. And sometimes, during meetings when everyone was beginning to get foggy and distracted by the grooves on the table, Mordred would glance at Merlin and the warlock would be watching Arthur. Except it wasn't the same as before. There was an edge to it that worried Mordred. And from what the druid had overheard during training breaks he wasn't the only knight to pick up on the change.


	2. changes

It becomes something of a talking point among the knights, during breaks in training or routine patrols. No-one can work out why Merlin has become more reserved in Arthur’s presence. There are a few carefully worded enquires to Arthur, offhand comments about Merlin seeming more focused on his actual job than ‘Arthur sitting’, as they sometimes refer to it between themselves. Each one is met with a variation of the same response from Arthur, a shrug and a line about how Merlin is finally learning his place after all these years.

It doesn’t sit right with the knights.

The newer knights don’t quite understand why the original knights are so concerned. After all, Merlin is just a servant, isn’t he? And the original knights can’t refute this claim; Merlin _is_ a servant, even if they feel he is as good as one of them. They’ve all seen the lengths Merlin goes to in order to protect Arthur. Even the palace guards who’ve been there since Merlin’s arrival, few though their numbers now are, have taken to Merlin, turning a blind eye if they see him sneaking about at night.

It’s always been one of the unsaid things in the castle. Merlin cares for Arthur, despite how their interactions seem to refute this knowledge, and most, if not all, of his actions are taken to protect the young King.

If Merlin is distancing himself from the blonde what does that mean for his future?

(())

_Is something the matter Emrys?_

He probably shouldn’t take as much satisfaction in the stumble his words cause the other, but one must take small pleasures where they can in Camelot. As it is Merlin throws a glare in his direction and Mordred’s smirk only widens. It seems that Merlin is finally beginning to pay attention to his surroundings.

“You know, speech was developed for a _reason_.” Merlin hisses at him, but there’s a slight upwards tilt to the corner of his lips that lessens the sting of the words. Mordred shrugs, stepping closer and walking alongside Merlin as he continues on his way. There’s a collection of armour pilled in his hands, Arthur’s at any guess, dented here and there from the morning’s training and streaked with dirt.

A weight settles in Mordred’s stomach, a reaction to the unintended reminder that he ranks _above_ Merlin in the castle’s official hierarchy. Where others would think twice about ordering him, a knight of the King, to do menial tasks to occupy his time no-one thinks twice about doing the same to Merlin, regardless of how much he has to have done for Arthur by day’s end.

It’s _wrong_.

But there’s nothing he can do to change it, not without endangering the lives of all who Emrys holds close. Not without risking Emrys’ opinion of him. Mordred sighs, gaze falling to the stonework below his feet. Becoming someone worthy of Emrys’ attention and time takes more restraint than he ever imagined it would.

The sigh draws Merlin’s attention from the careful balancing act he’s in the middle of with Arthur’s armour. He glances at Mordred, eyebrows drawing together at the pensive expression on his face.

“Is something the matter Mordred?” The young druid doesn’t respond for a moment, though he bites at his bottom lip. Then he sighs, looking around the hallway to check that they are alone.

“There is some level of… concern among the knights and a few of the guardsmen.” Merlin frowns, uncomprehending of the meaning behind Mordred’s words. Mordred bites at his lip again, searching for a way to phrase his concern without insulting the man before him. He has a brief thought that life seemed easier when Emrys was painfully antagonistic toward him. “Others have noticed that you are more reserved in Arthur’s presence and are beginning to question it.”

Merlin tenses, a myriad of emotions flashing over his face. Anger first and foremost, that Mordred thinks this is a matter for him to concern himself with. Fear that the knights will realise, that all his hard work will have been for nothing. But there’s also relief, this weird overwhelming sense of relief that Mordred came to _him_ before doing anything.

He takes a deep breath, fixes his grip on the armour before making eye contact with Mordred once more. The young druid looks worried, but meets Merlin’s look head on. And that’s what decided it for Merlin. Mordred told him that there was something going on. Mordred told him, and hasn’t flinched away yet. Mordred wants to know what Merlin _thinks about this_.

“Help me get this downstairs and we’ll talk about it there.”

(())

A week passes before the knights have anything concrete to pin their concerns on.

(())

“Everyone ready?” The King pushes himself up in his stirrups and looks across the gathered knights. From his position beside Arthur’s horse, Leon casts a look of his own across those present. He catches Percevial’s eye and they share a concerned look.

No Merlin.

“Merlin’s not accompanying us, sire?” Arthur made an exasperated sound, settling back in his saddle.

“You know Leon you’re the third person to ask me that so far. Merlin’s a big boy now; he can handle a weekend by himself. Move out!” The blonde had turned to face the other knights with his last command, and as such missed the frown which flittered across Leon’s face. He wasn’t going to deny that Merlin was capable; he had been privy to some of Merlin’s more grand exploits in his time at Camelot. But Arthur and Merlin had practically become one unit in that time. Where Arthur was Merlin was sure to follow. Even when Arthur took the year to track down Morgana before her true nature was revealed the only one who accompanied him was Merlin.

That Merlin wasn’t taking part in this hunting trip spoke drastically of the change in their relationship.

 At some point in the journey out Percival and Elyan came up alongside Leon, and the trio rode in silence for a moment or two. Arthur was distracted with recounting one of his impressive feats to a few of the younger knights and the others respected the seniority of the three so they had some leeway for talking without being overheard. Elyan opened the conversation with an almost casual aside,

“You know, I could have sworn Merlin played a good part in _rescuing_ Arthur from that creature.” Percival let out a laugh, even as Leon shook his head at the sheer lack of tact that Elyan sometimes possessed.

“That story wouldn’t have quite the same cadence though, would it Elyan?” The dark skinned knight shrugged at Percival’s question, eyes focused on the King’s back.

“I don’t think Arthur realises he’s pushing Merlin away.” Leon’s words were measured, and stopped whatever comment Elyan was about to make in response. The two cast inquisitive looks at Leon. Said knight was focused on Arthur himself, eyes narrowed in thought. “I enquired about the lack of Merlin’s presence before we set off. He felt that Merlin could survive a weekend alone.” This gave the other two a pause for thought, their attention turning to Arthur once more. The blonde was laughing at some comment from the younger knights, revelling in the awestruck attention.

The three of them shared a thought; would Arthur survive a weekend without Merlin watching out for him? 


	3. conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I'll stop taking the piss out of Camelot's guardsmen.  
> Today is not that day.  
> Gwaine is fun to write though.

Mordred was coming off his shift in the guard rota, the sun beginning to rise at the edge of the horizon. The king and a good portion of the knights had left the previous day on a hunting trip, and the castle was quieter without their presence. It was a nice change; however there were a few things which plagued Mordred’s thoughts that morning.

The king had left Emrys behind. He was doing a rather good job of not seeming all that fussed about the change in routine, but Mordred could tell that the slight hurt him. It wasn’t a simple matter of being passed over for accompanying the king on the trip. It was so much more than that now.

Emrys was beginning to realise how much he was worth, _without_ Arthur at his side. Mordred would like to say that he was the catalyst for this realisation, but he couldn’t in good faith do such a thing. That would be disrespectful to the struggles Emrys had gone through over the past years.  Emrys was always going to realise his own worth, Mordred’s confession had only acted as one of many stepping stones bringing him closer to this realisation.

As he stepped down from the parapet along the castle walls Mordred thought back to the conversation he had with Emrys a little under a week ago. Oh yes, there was no way that Emrys would doubt his own self worth any more.

(({

_“What do you make of Camelot?” The two are still making their way downstairs and the question throws Mordred off balance for a moment. He goes to respond, but then pauses, thinking over his answer more thoughtfully. Merlin allows him this time, watching him out of the corner of his eye._

_“Camelot is… changed from my last memories. Whether the change is positive or not I have yet to ascertain however.” Mordred’s words are spoken with a careful sense of hesitance, but they are spoken truthfully. He remembers their conversation in the destroyed room. The truth, no matter how hesitant, will be the way to win Emrys’ trust._

_“The changing of a King will change much in a court.” Emrys’ words would have been much more biting a few weeks ago, but now there is a subtle tease. “But not enough.” The warlock sighs, coming to a stop and gesturing with a nod towards the closed door._

_Mordred steps forward and opens it, holding it for Emrys and then pulling it shut after him. He stays silent as Emrys lays out Arthur’s armour, but cannot contain his gasp as the warlock calls upon his magic to begin the cleaning and polishing of said armour. The feel of such powerful magic is heady in the small room._

_Emrys looks over at the gasp, a smile beginning to curve his lips. It falters as he recalls their conversation and he sighs once more, leaning against the table and gesturing for Mordred to seat himself. The young druid does so, keeping himself turned towards Emrys and waiting for him to resume the conversation._

_He does so after a pause._

_“Over the years, I have given Arthur advice on a whole range of actions and topics. And each time, he refuses to accept my advice without first running through a trial and error of every other piece of advice he can find.” Here Emrys pauses again, seemingly searching for the words he wants to say. “I suppose my reservations around Arthur nowadays are due to a wish of having him come to me for my advice and taking it first.”_

_Mordred’s confusion must be palpable. Emrys lives in the shadow of a man who barely recognises the greatness he has the loyalty of. For how long this loyalty will last is beginning to become a rather timely worry._

_“I would like to say I understand but, I don’t. However,” Mordred continues when Emrys begins to frown, “I can see why you are more reserved in his presence. Are you aware of the reasoning Arthur is giving for this change in attitude?”_

_Emrys blinks at him, the idea that Arthur has an excuse already made stunning him to silence. Arthur thinks he knows the reason for his shift in behaviour? Mordred takes the silence as a cue to continue and glances to the ground as he does so._

_“He says that you’re finally becoming a half-decent servant who knows when to stay silent.” It had been said in a form of jest during a training session where Merlin was not present. But every knight present had been able to detect the undercurrent of truth that meant Arthur truly believed what he was saying._

_Emrys’ magic flares to life in the room, almost choking Mordred with its intensity. It disappears as quickly as it came, the armour falling to the table as the warlock reins all his magic in. When Mordred works up the courage to look at Emrys once more he finds himself caught by his stare._

_The breath catches in Mordred’s throat, and he finds himself unable to look away. He is painfully aware of how easily he would let his shields down if Emrys gave his mind so much as a passing glance, but Emrys makes no move to do so. Instead he smiles a little._

_“Thanks for coming to me with this.” Mordred nods, the movement jerky and Emrys_ laughs _, the sound causing a flush to rise in Mordred’s cheeks as he ducks his head. The other’s magic picks up again, a soothing hum flooding the room and a pleased weight settles in Mordred’s stomach at the thought that he had something to do with getting Emrys to this stage of happiness once more. Emrys lets out a soft noise and Mordred looks up again. Emrys is still smiling, though it looks a little wistful._

_“Arthur has been the focus of my destiny for so long I feel I’ve forgotten who I am.” He turns to look at the armour floating above the table and cleaning itself. His smile strengthens, becoming less wistful and more confident. “But I think I may be beginning to remember.”_

}))

Gwaine strolled through the town, an easy smile on his lips at the relaxed nature of the people around him. It was nice being somewhere that people felt comfortable around their town. He continued on his walk, pausing every now and again to engage in conversation with the townsfolk who recognised him as a knight of Camelot even in his civilian clothing.

While he may not spend that much time in the market area of Camelot, it never hurt to garner good favour. One could get access to the bedrock of many rumours via the market if you knew who to ask. He had been called over by one of the tradesmen for an offering of thanks, for help repairing his stall after the last battle inside Camelot’s walls, and had managed to steer the conversation in the direction of any new rumours.

The current one he was being told had to do with the local opinion of the King and his guardsmen. Keeping an eye on the rumours and attitudes towards these two groups of Camelot was always recommended, especially when the King was away. And with the majority of the Round Table Knights away with the King for the week the bulk of the responsibility fell to Gwaine, so that he could report in upon the hunting party’s return.

“You know the young one, dark hair and wears that neckerchief?” Gwaine nodded, an image of Merlin coming to mind. The townsfolk always had a good word or two to say about the young servant.

“Well, he was down here the other day, getting ingredients for what I couldn’t tell you. But he was getting this list complete, kind as you like, stopped to speak to the little ones, paid a little extra even when offered a discount, because the kid is a kind soul; never let anyone tell you any different. And then one of the guardsmen came, not a knight like you, one of the men who wander around on patrols but never seem to stop anyone. Quick as you like he tells the boy that he’s wanted back at the castle. And fair play, he said he’d be back as soon as he delivered his purchases.

“But the guardsman refuses to listen, tells the kid he’ll take the purchases, but the King wants to see him immediately. And that struck the group of us as a bit strange you see. Because the King must have more than the one servant working for him. He’s the _King_. And we’ve seen the way he treat the poor boy. Had half a mind to jump in there myself and stand up for the kid.”

Gwaine frowned as he listened to the tale being recounted. It did sound a bit odd to his ears. While he knew that the King and Merlin were closer than a typical manservant and his King would be, the King would never call for Merlin in such a way as that. When Merlin was doing errands Arthur tended to ignore the dark haired youth. And if this had been a few days ago, it must have been just before the hunting trip set off.

The hunting trip to which Merlin had not gone along.

“Huh, well that is a bit odd now isn’t it?” The curly haired knight responded. The tradesman nodded emphatically and Gwaine straightened from his lean on the side of the stall. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I see the guardsmen. And I’ll ask Merlin about it; make sure nothing strange was going on.”

“Oh no, sir! You don’t have to go that far, I just wanted someone to know, just in case…” The tradesmen seemed surprised at how seriously his worries were being taken and Gwaine offered a friendly smile as he stepped away.

“It’s no trouble. It’s a part of my job as a knight to see that the worries of the people are dealt with in a timely manner. In fact I’ll head back up to the castle now and see if I can’t find a guard or two to talk it out with.” Gwaine went on his way with a cry of thanks following him. As he turned a corner toward the castle he felt his jovial expression slip into one of a more contemplative nature.

There was something strange happening. The King would never usually send a guard to summon Merlin particularly, and it had been quite some time since Arthur left the walls of Camelot without Merlin at his side.

These concerns did nothing to alleviate Gwaine’s memories of the growing worries that the knights had been talking of prior to the hunting trip. It seemed that as Merlin became more comfortable around Mordred he became less so around the King. He would have to talk to Merlin about that. But first, to the guards. After all, he had given his word to the tradesman. 


	4. history

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin likes his magic. Merlin likes how Mordred reacts to his magic.
> 
> Gwaine likes to tease. Gwaine likes to be trusted. Gwaine doesn't like the mistreatment of his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (places an offering of apology in the middle of the night and flees)

Recently Merlin was more aware than ever of his magic. It pressed ever closer to the surface than it had in many years, a constant buzz beneath his skin that itched to get out. He would be lying if he said that he didn’t know why. He’d been using his magic with more frequency these days, behind the safety of closed doors, but with more frequency than he had in his years of being in Camelot.

And his magic rejoiced.

Mordred had mentioned many times the power that he held, and how the druids looked to him for the return of magic throughout the lands. Each time he heard, Merlin had refused to listen. They sounded too much like a destiny, like some kind of prophesised fate for his comfort. They reminded him of the destiny entwined with Arthur's and he had wanted nothing to do with yet another destiny on his shoulders. He had enough trouble with keeping Arthur alive to uphold his part of the destiny. Taking responsibility for a whole new group was too much to ask of him.

And yet the more Merlin thought on the young druids words the less like destiny they sounded. Mordred had not said that his return of magic to the land was ‘foretold’ after all. He had spoken of tales and stories about Emrys and his magic. The years had given Merlin an appreciation for the difference between stories and foretold actions.

With the king still away on his hunting trip Merlin had even more time to appreciate this difference. Being the focus of the hopes and wishes of the druids was a more pleasant experience than that of being Arthur’s manservant. Being the focus of Mordred’s adoration was a more pleasant experience than being Arthur’s manservant had been in the past couple of weeks.

It was something he had known of for some time. Mordred was not as subtle in his affections as he probably hoped to be, or perhaps Merlin was better at reading people than Arthur thought. Before, when Mordred had been but a boy in furs too large for his frame, there had been an unrestrained sort of awe in his expression when he realised who Merlin was. And there were still traces of that awe in his expression these days. When Merlin used magic in his presence or even spoke of it Mordred’s whole face would light up.

It was something that Merlin was becoming used to seeing these past few days.

(())

Gwaine was a man of the people, which was a fact that very few would ever try to deny. He could get the townspeople to talk with him about matters they only murmured about in the comfort of their own homes. Of all the knights he, Percival and Elyan had the most skill with getting to the heart of the town gossip.

There was something to be said about confiding in the three of them. Elyan was a knight with roots of the most common kind, so the friendships he had formed during his childhood years withstood the test of time and change and resulted in a network that trusted in his confidence. Percival could be seen carrying around small children during his patrols and was always ready to lend a hand to anyone who needed the extra strength. And Gwaine was a charmer, there was no doubt about that, but he was a charmer who knew the people and had experiences they could only dream of, yet never bragged or boasted.

With Percival and Elyan both away on the hunting trip Mordred was well aware that Gwaine would be the only reliable source of information on the people and their mood. He himself was well liked enough, but there was an edge to his interactions with others that he found hard to curb. Removing the edge when talking to Emrys had proven difficult enough and he had broken down in front of him.

Gwaine approached him the day before the King and his party were due back. Emrys had mentioned earlier that day that Gwaine had spoken to him about concerns that the townspeople were having about his relationship with Arthur. He hadn’t given the particulars of their conversation, but Mordred hadn’t minded too much. The fact that Emrys had confided in him in the first place was something of an accomplishment either way. It was a sign that he was gaining more of Emrys’ trust.

But back to the point.

Gwaine approached him in the training fields where Mordred had been sparring with a few of the younger knights. [Younger knights, as if Mordred was even old enough to be wearing the chain of Camelot. As if these kids would know what to do in the heat of a battle. Were they even old enough to have known the days when Arthur and Morgana sat side by side underneath King Uther?] With a smile he had waved off the others, pulling the young druid over to one side.

“Afternoon Mordred.” Gwaine’s countenance was cheery as always as he leant against the wall, but Mordred was still on the edge. 

“Good afternoon Gwaine.” Some of his weariness must have shown in his expression because Gwaine’s own expression turned teasing and he poked at Mordred’s cheek.

“What’s that look for? Did you do something naughty you think I know about?”

“What? No!” Mordred flushed, slapping away Gwaine’s hand and scowling at him. Gwaine laughed and Mordred found the tension in his shoulder’s easing. Gwaine wasn’t going to judge him harshly for whatever it was that he wanted to speak about.

“You are far too easy to rile up.”

“If that’s what you wanted to talk about you could have just asked anyone here.” Mordred made a sweeping gesture towards the training grounds, drawing another laugh from Gwaine. Mordred was one of the knights who often burned out fastest in training, because a few pointed statements would get him fighting with his all. It was almost a world away from his behaviour prior to coming to Camelot. But that was the point wasn’t it?

“That’s very true, but you’re right that it wasn’t what I wanted to talk about,” Here he paused, expression clouding for a moment as he surveyed the training field, “The situation with Arthur and Merlin… You haven’t weighed in on it.”

“Ah,” Mordred glanced away. There were a number of ways that this conversation could turn. For the sake of his relationship with Emrys he was going to try for the best route. “I was unsure if my opinion would be needed. I was under the impression that my developing relationship with Merlin was being called in to consideration alongside his… changing relationship with the King.”

Gwaine let out an inelegant noise at Mordred’s choice of words. The young knight could always be counted on for a spot of amusement even in the most serious of conversations.

“You make a fair point. We have considered the existence of such a link. There’s something that I’ve always wondered however. Your relationship with Merlin was antagonistic from the outset and we’ve never been able to find a clear reason.” Gwaine pauses and when all he gets in response is a slight tightening in Mordred’s shoulders he tries a slightly different tact, “It’s almost as if you met before.”

Mordred’s mouth suddenly goes dry. Very few in Camelot were aware of his past. It was safer that way and yet… And yet Mordred felt a need to confide in Gwaine. Not least because he was one of the few whom Emrys trusted explicitly.

“That may be because we have… A few years ago, well more than a few.” Mordred trailed off, shaking his head. “Could we have this conversation elsewhere?”

Gwaine nodded after a pause, expression pensive but still open. Mordred’s answering smile lacked humour. They left the training grounds and made their way in silence towards the castle’s highest ramparts.

“The first time Merlin and I met, I was young, barely into the summers of my teenage years. I was with a group of travellers who spent time wandering the lands. We made camp outside of Camelot’s main walls but Uther… was not best pleased with my people.” A bitter taste sat in Mordred’s mouth and he swallowed it down. He had committed himself to this path and so he would see it through. “Uther had my master killed and he would have killed me alongside him were it not for Merlin and Morgana.” He doesn’t stumble over the name, though his heart twists in his chest. Gwaine’s intake of breath brings a wry smile to his mouth though.

It has been many years since Morgana was spoken over with any degree of fondness in Camelot.

“If Merlin saved you from the same fate as your master then why the animosity?” Gwaine avoids the subject of Morgana and for that Mordred is more grateful than he has words for.

“We met several times afterwards, each ending more disastrously than the last. I was young and angry at all that Camelot represented. Merlin saw it is his duty to stop me, if only because he had played a part in me living to cause Camelot such grief.”

“Save the child, yet blame the man?” Gwaine’s question is such an echo of the conversation which sparked all these issues that Mordred can’t help but smile, pained as the expression may be.

“The very same issue I raised during our time trapped in close confines.” Mordred breathes out, straightening from the leant over position he had take during his talk of his past. “But we’re working on sorting out the problems of the past. This probably led to Merlin evaluating his past interactions with others if we are to return to the topic which started this conversation.” Gwaine hums thoughtfully, eyeing Mordred with a myriad of emotions flitting through his eyes. He takes the change of topic for what it is though.

“And so he began to evaluate his interactions with Arthur and found them lacking.” The spark of gratefulness Mordred felt earlier flares up into something which tastes more of respect. Gwaine’s gaze moves to survey the horizon, as if he can see to where the King and his men are based for the day from this distance. Mordred follows his gaze and stokes the fire of respect. Gwaine’s words held the slightest taint of bitterness. The bitterness of someone who is beginning to realise their friend had been mistreated for too long.

It seems Merlin is not the only one who has found Arthur’s behaviour lacking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so new year huh?  
> I could say I'm sorry a million times over, but I'm not sure that would really mean anything. Real life is hectic and living situations have not always been conducive to writing decent fic.   
> There's also the issue of this fic spiralling out of control like crazy and trying to reach an endpoint I'm not sure I'm able to write. But I shall try.


	5. loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The main players are gathered in Camelot once more and the Knights reach a crossroad of choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days I'll grasp the concept of regular updates. But that time is not near. Hopefully since my Uni is on holiday until October I should be able to get more work done on this story in the meantime but no promises.  
> Especially since my body refuses to keep iron in my blood at acceptable levels and makes me want to nap every other hour.
> 
> Writing the knights is interesting, if annoying at times because they don't want to say what I want them to say where I want them to say it.  
> Enjoy the latest chapter.

The day the King returns dawns with low hanging clouds and the threat of rain heavy in the air. The King rides at the head of his knights as is his rightful position and the people are glad to see him back. The kills they have made are impressive in number and in the care of the younger knights. They are greeted by the kitchen staff, the kills taken to be skinned and prepared for the feast that will be held in honour of the king’s return. 

The king and the more senior knights are greeted by Merlin, Mordred, Gwaine and a selection of stable hands. Merlin steps up to Arthur’s stallion, taking the reins and placing a hand on his neck to keep him calm as Arthur swings over and down. From the corner of his eye he sees Mordred and Gwaine move towards the other knights. 

“Looks like you had a good hunt, Arthur.” Arthur smiles at this, the curve teasing. 

“Funny thing that. Seems things go better when there’s not a clumsy oaf to spook the animals.” It’s a sentiment that’s been shared many times in the past, but something about the phrasing hurts. Merlin lets out an indignant noise, one which Arthur was expecting if the way he laughs easily in response is any sign. The blond slips his gloves off and drops them in Merlin’s hand. 

“Has Gwen been around recently?” The conversation change is unexpected but appreciated. Merlin isn’t sure if he could have kept smiling through a teasing conversation. He turns his back to Arthur, busying himself with the saddlebags as he answers. 

“She was here the other day.” He offers no more information, sharing a look with the stable hand that has come around the other side at Arthur’s next words. 

“Was she looking for something in particular, or…?” The stable hand ducks his head, but not before Merlin catches the laughter in his gaze. The odd courtship springing up between the King and Gwen is amusing even in the worst of times. Merlin pushes the hurt down to be prodded at later and turns so he can see Arthur over his shoulder. 

“Nothing in particular sire… Though she did ask when the hunting party was due back.” Arthur brightens at that. Merlin takes pity on the stable hand on the other side of the stallion, who seems a few moments from laughing at the king and sends them off with a nod. Within the hour the latest update on the courtship will be circling the castle.  
Merlin hopes it overshadows the rumours of a divide between him and Arthur. 

((()))

“So Merlin is… evaluating past interactions with others?” Mordred shrugs, eyes on the tankard before him rather than the knights around him. After their return the knights had been quick to ask for updates on the Arthur/Merlin situation. Gwaine had refused to discuss it so close to Arthur and had taken them all to one of the taverns he frequented within Camelot for a bit of privacy. Leon, Percival and Elyan had shared what news they had of Arthur’s attitude during the hunting trip. Gwaine had shared his information next, his worry about the townspeople’s fluctuating attitude to Arthur palpable. Mordred had to share next, finding a way to twist the events of the caved in room so there was no mention of magic or of the tears he had cried, and the conversations he had begun to share with Merlin. 

He does not like being the centre of attention for these knights. He knows how quickly trust can turn to suspicion and hopes that he has not made them question Merlin more than Arthur. Leon’s gaze is perhaps the heaviest weight of them all, for he is the most senior among them, the one who has grown with Arthur the most, who can remember a time before Merlin in Camelot with a measure of fondness. 

“It does make sense all things considered.” Elyan’s words are casual, almost spoken as an afterthought as he frowns at an unspecified point. His words draw the attention of the group, some of the tension easing out of Mordred’s posture. 

“How so?” Percival hasn’t spoken much in the previous conversation, but Mordred knew that didn’t mean he had no opinion on the matter. Percival tended towards the peacekeeping side of things and so often listened for all other opinions before providing his own, tweaked so as not to stir too much ire from those of a disagreeing perspective. Mordred hoped there would not be disagreements in this matter. 

“Well, think about all the things Merlin’s done for Arthur these past years. And I don’t mean as a ‘typical manservant’. Arthur went on that year long search for- Morgana,” Elyan almost trips over the name, as if he forgot for a moment that she was no longer a sister to their blonde king. Gwaine nudges Mordred’s shoulder as he tenses again, a silent show of comfort Mordred appreciates and despises at once, “He went for a year and took only Merlin. No knights, no others, only Merlin.”

The next few moments are spent recounting the various exploits Merlin has undertaken for Arthur, with usually only a token protest. Each tale seems to leave a bitter taste in the mouths of the knights, even as they laugh at amusing twists to the tales. Mordred hides a smirk behind the rim of his tankard. Emrys has no idea how much loyalty he inspires in others. 

“And instead of enquiring about the changes Merlin is going through Arthur instead says he’s learning his place.” Gwaine’s tone is distinctly unimpressed. It is of no real surprise. Even without the conversation they shared a few days ago on the matter, Mordred is aware that Gwaine was closer to Merlin than Arthur. 

The group sits in silence for a moment before Leon sighs and stands. 

“The feast will most likely be starting in a time,” The others make noises of agreement as they rise also, “Let’s finish this moving.”

So he says. But the conversation does not resume until they have passed from the town into the castle itself, after sharing a few words with the guards on duty at the bridge. They come to a pause inside the courtyard, aware they will have to separate here to reach their separate lodgings and prepare. 

“This is our king we are talking about.” Leon’s words seem non-linear, but a glance at the gathered knights reassure him that they have all reached a similar location with their thoughts in the journey back to the castle. Percival crosses his arms over his chest, expression difficult to read.

“Blind loyalty is not the kind of loyalty a man should live with.” Gwaine laughs, the sound a little sharper than normal, clapping Percival on the shoulder. 

“Couldn’t have put it better myself.” His amusement fades quickly, and he takes in the small group before his next words, “So we are in agreement?” 

A curt nod is what comes from Elyan, Leon’s own nod seeming wistful as if he is trying to remember the better days. Percival offers a few words of agreement and Mordred nods, gaze falling to the tiles below. They part shortly after, a few words to agree a meeting point before the feast, and they go their separate ways to prepare. 

Mordred keeps his head low as he returns to his rooms, feeling nearly giddy with joy. He didn’t fuck up and turn the knights from Emrys’ side. He has done almost the complete opposite! If Arthur continues with his current behaviour and attitude towards Emrys he would find little support from his knights. 

Now Mordred just had to find a way to explain what had happened to Emrys before one of the other knights reached him first.


	6. belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin had been avoiding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this is late.  
> In my defence I am extremely lazy and rarely inspired. So.  
> Merlin continues on his path to taking no shit from no one and Mordred's crush is an actual thing now. Also I compliment the guardsmen in a roundabout way. Which I never saw coming but hey, first time for everything.

Merlin had been avoiding him. Merlin was still avoiding him. Although the avoidance issue was hard to argue with Merlin in the same room as him at the moment, placing things which had been taken for cleaning back in their rightful places. That didn’t stop him from bringing the topic up.

“Have you been avoiding me Merlin?” It was always interesting to see Merlin’s reactions to some of his questions. In reaction to this question Merlin jumped, almost seeming to flinch, before casting an unimpressed look over his shoulder at Arthur’s resulting laughter.

“I’ve been nearly run off my feet trying to keep up with all the errands people have needed me to run. Excuse me if I haven’t had time to stop and chat, sire.” Arthur hummed in his throat, eyes narrowing slightly at the tone of response.

“They do realise that you’re my manservant first and servant of the castle second, right?” Merlin had turned to face him now, rolling his eyes.

“Yes Arthur, of course Arthur. It’s not like there’s a very important diplomatic guest due any day. I’ll be sure to tell the cook that the next time she starts pointing her ladle at me.” Arthur’s eyebrows rose.

“Is the cook truly that terrifying?”

“In comparison to the frankly spectacular bed head you wear each morning or-?” Merlin ducked out of the path of the thrown fruit with a laugh. Arthur’s own expression was indulgent as he turned back to his paperwork.

“Oh, back to work with you!” As Merlin left the King’s rooms however, his cheerful disposition began to wane somewhat. There had been a time when Merlin ranked as manservant first and his own person second, damn what the rest of the castle thought. Now he was relegated to a person of his own after being a servant of the castle.

He was trying so hard to see the good in Arthur that he had once believed in so ardently. Truly he was. But each interaction they had these days seemed to only increase the size of the gulf slowly opening between them. There had been a time when Merlin would have done next to anything to close that gulf, or make his way to Arthur’s side once more.

Under his skin his magic hummed, as if sensing his mood and wanting to provide reassurance. He ducked his head to hide a smile as he continued towards his next destination. His magic was so much more than he had ever thought he could let it be in Camelot. And crossing the gulf towards Arthur wasn’t worth squashing the warmth his magic provided whenever it reacted to his moods.

Thoughts of his magic led him to thinking of Mordred as it did so often these days. Maybe it was due to the fact that he was the only other magic user in Camelot and as such the halls of the castle were saturated with both of their magic. It was a heady mixture; that much Merlin could admit to if only in the comfort of his mind. It eased some sort of bone deep tension that had been present in Merlin since… since Morgana had fled, gone rogue and turned herself against everything that Merlin stood for.

Or everything that Merlin had stood for.

((()))

Mordred shifted anxiously in his seat, wishing Merlin would speak up. Merlin for his part continued to watch Mordred, face carefully blank. They were back in the room from a while ago, the one where Mordred had first seen Merlin use his magic outside of battle. Mordred had called for Merlin and the warlock had responded as quickly as he could, a fact he hadn’t lingered on overlong as Mordred spilled all the facts he could remember from the meeting with the other knights.

The warlocks magic was not so silent, but no less difficult to read. There were chores Merlin still had to do and his magic was taking care of them as it had before. This time however there was a strange disjointed rhythm to the motions, and the magic seemed eager to pull itself back to Merlin.

And then Merlin sighed.

“Thank you for telling me of this Mordred.” It’s almost an echo of their previous conversation but Mordred does not feel as relieved as he did then. He bites his lip, ducking his head to avoid Emrys’ gaze. Has he messed up somehow? So lost in his thoughts is Mordred that he doesn’t realise Merlin has walked closer until the warlock was knelt before him.

“I mean it Mordred. It’s just… surprising to know I have the loyalty of the knights.” Mordred blinks at the warlock in surprise, grey eyes wide.

“You have the loyalty of so many Emrys!” The words spring from Mordred before he has even finished thinking them. To think that this warlock, this man who wields so much power and has never once sought to harm someone with it, to think that he doesn’t know the loyalty he inspires is a thought Mordred finds hard to bear. “You’re the darling of the townspeople; anyone asked could tell you how much adoration they hold for you! And for all the faults in the lower guards of Camelot they would listen to your orders in a heartbeat. And the loyalty you have inspired in those who haven’t even met you… Emrys you can’t truly believe there are a lack of people who are loyal to you.”

Emrys is watching him with wide eyes and a flushed face and Mordred can feel an answering flush rising on his face. Perhaps he has said too much. But what he has said is no more than the truth. Mordred’s gaze drops once more and he bits his lip to stop more words from escaping him.

Merlin struggles to find words in the aftermath of Mordred’s impassioned speech. The sheer amount of _belief_ in the druid’s voice is staggering. Not only does he believe that Merlin has this loyalty but he truly believes that Merlin deserves the loyalty he is given. A smile finds it place on his lips. To think the fates would have seen them on opposite sides. As it is now Merlin could barely stomach the thought of turning his magic against the druid before him.

“You truly believe I have all this loyalty?” Even so he must be sure. There are enough variables to take into account during the day to day life at Camelot, even without the latest developments. To be safe in the knowledge that he would not be turned against easily… Mordred looks up at him carefully, a small smile on his lips at the hopeful expression on his face.

“I do Emrys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mordred is so gay it's amazing.  
> And next chapter we finally get to the match that will light the fire that causes shit to go down. I'm not making any concrete promises but hopefully it will be up before this year ends.


	7. foolish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feasts had always been one of Gwaine’s favourite things about life in Camelot. Feasts meant good food, better company and no shortage of laughs as the night wore on.  
> At least, they had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A month later a new chapter appears! I know, I'm as surprised as you. It's amazing what not doing uni work will accomplish. Also being trapped in uni till six every Tuesday might influence things. 
> 
> This chapter was meant to go in a whole other direction. Or rather have alternate things happen. But the match has been lit and now the ball can really get rolling in regards to plot. I knew exactly where I wanted this chapter to go but-... I now know where I need to go to reach my wanted ending at least so there's that. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Feasts had always been one of Gwaine’s favourite things about life in Camelot. Feasts meant good food, better company and no shortage of laughs as the night wore on. However since the hunting trips return feasts had been less enjoyable. The growing divide between Merlin and Arthur laced interactions with tension. A tension that seemed nonexistent to the two, but was obvious to the knights.

The current feast is to celebrate Arthur's achievement in the diplomatic affairs of Camelot. He has managed to broker a political partnership with neighbouring lands to the north. An alliance between the two lands had been thought to be the stuff of wishful thinking. Uther and their ruler had never seen eye to eye on many matters, especially that of magic. That Arthur has managed is an accomplishment for the young King. One that deserves a celebration. After all, the reduction of border skirmishes would be a relief to villages nearby. 

The place of honour to the Kings right has gone to the leader of the northern lands. His daughter sits to the Kings left, something which made the leader smile. His daughter is fair of skin, the type who spends more time indoors than out. The type who rarely interacts with her people. Her hair has been teased into ringlets, which draw attention to her cheekbones. The feast starts with the kings attention focused on that of the northern leader. Yet as the night draws on the Kings attention turns more and more toward the fair lady. 

This is a fact that has not gone unnoticed. Merlin, tasked with serving the knights rather than the king, has noticed. The knights in turn have noticed, Elyan noticing with a small measure of anger. Gwen has noticed as well, and each laugh shared by the King and fair lady make her hands shake. She continues to serve with a smile. Elyan wishes it did not have to be so. 

And yet, the feast could have finished on a high note. A high note tempered by Elyan's annoyance at the King; but a high note nonetheless. But it was not to be. 

As the King stands to escort the young lady from the hall to her rooms for the night she poses a question.  

“My Lord, if I may be so bold, I was wondering if I might... enquire on your attitudes towards magic and those who use it? The views of your father are quite well known. Yet little on the subject has been heard from you.”

"There  _are_ good reasons for that my lady. In the current situation it is often better to say nothing." A diplomatic answer if ever there was one. And still,

"Oh surely in the current company it would do no harm to speak of your views my Lord?" Arthur let out a laugh, the glance he threw over his shoulder landing on Leon and the Knights. They all attempted to smile in response. Before Arthur would have waited for a teasing comment to respond. He would have waited for more input than painfully false smiles. He would have been able to detect the false joy in their smiles. Now he couldn't. 

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt." A pause. And then, "If their presence is not overbearing I have little quarrel with them. If they wish to make a home in my lands they may." The knights froze where they had been following the King. Gwaine and Mordred's focus lingered on the King for a second then turned to Merlin. 

Merlin who was watching the King leave with utter betrayal written on his features. 

The expression was gone almost as fast as it had appeared but it had been there long enough. Without another word Merlin turned his back and resumed his duties. Mordred and Gwaine shared a pained look, knowing that the breaking point was near. 

At Arthur's words Leon felt his loyalty freeze to the core. For all that he had decided to side with Merlin he had not thought it would happen like this. He had not thought Arthur would ruin everything with such a clean blow. 

These were not words Arthur had been speaking over the hunting week. These were not the words Arthur spoke each time Merlin brought the subject up. Each time the pair spoke of magic and its uses. That the king could change his tune so fast and with such sincerity...

It was worrisome. To say the least. 

 ((()))

Merlin continued with his duties, only relenting when one of the other servants insisted. His flight from the room was only stopped by Gwen, with a hand to his elbow and a pained smile. He hated seeing her smile in such a way. They had left together, finding their way onto the ramparts. A heavy silence sat between the two and Merlin was loath to break it.

“I’ve been so foolish haven’t I?” Gwen’s voice was soft, softer than it usually was. Merlin turned to find her staring down at her hands. What little light the moon offered cast her face in shadow. Gwen was not made to stand in shadow, Merlin thought. She was meant for the light, and the bright, and the _happy._  

“You’re never foolish.” Merlin’s word’s startled a laugh from her, though it was not as happy as he liked Gwen to sound. Her focus turned to the view before them and she sighed.

“I am plenty foolish Merlin.” She paused, searching for the right words. “He used to… Oh it sounds silly when I think about it now. But he used to find little ways to let me know he was going off. A note here or a few words about preparations for the trip when I was in the room. It was so sweet.” Gwen paused again, biting at her lip. Merlin reached for her hand and the smile he got in response was pained but grateful. “This last hunting trip, there was no warning. I found out from one of the cooks. And I thought ‘oh it must have slipped his mind’. He used to ask me things about Camelot and its people. He seemed to find reasons to keep talking to me. And when he returned he asked after me so I thought… Oh I don’t know what I thought anymore! I’m just a silly serving girl.” Her voice broke.

“Gwen, you are so much more than a silly serving girl.” Merlin pulled Gwen to his side as she took deep breaths. “You are  _so much more._ And if Arthur cannot see that any longer then you deserve so much more.”

“He’s never flirted so much before when I've been serving, Merlin. And the way he smiled at her as they left the hall...” Her voice was so small, so  _hurt,_ that for a moment a fierce anger filled Merlin. No-one should make Gwen feel this way. Gwen, who was never anything but kind and nice and so,  _so_  sweet to those who needed her time. Gwen who always stopped asking questions of him before he'd needed to lie to her. Who took his silences in stride and sat at his side still. 

“I’ll make sure I don’t go easy on him next time we’re training.” The voice came from the shadows behind them and they spun to meet it.

"Elyan!" Gwen's brother stepped from the shadows of the doorway. The smile he offered Gwen was sincere, if tempered by some anger. He brushed a hand over her cheek and only then did she realise she had been crying. 

“The King has done much to earn my ire these past weeks. That he has made you so upset has only made it worse." Elyan was so sure of his words. Gwen's expression crumpled and she buried her face into her brother's chest. And still she sought to keep her sobs quiet. 

Merlin stepped back, knowing that Gwen needed only the comfort of her brother now. Elyan nodded at him, calling out as he opened the door to return to the castle. 

“I believe Mordred and Gwaine were looking for you.”

“I’ll see if I can find them before they turn in then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Merlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I adore Gwen? 
> 
> Next chapter should have the showdown I've been waiting to write but who knows? No promises on it's due date.


	8. betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explosion of sound, and stones thrown themselves from the wall. The hall fills with smoke and Mordred flees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!  
> And with the New Year comes a new chapter! Yay. And finally we get the explosion that's been a long time coming.  
> Honestly this chapter was so difficult to write because writing people yelling at each other has never been my strong point. Also my laptop broke down shortly before October and I lost all the progress I had on this chapter and everything so that was ehhh. And then I spent way too long in a depressive funk and nothing wanted to work so that made everything worse but I digress.  
> Enjoy this chapter though.

And so the puzzle pieces were all aligned. Some were in a different shape to how they had once displayed themselves, and many found themselves linked to pieces they had been near before. But a destiny had changed, and grown, developed in to something more than something foretold around fires and under the cover of darkness.

It all came to a head at the next meeting of the Round Table.

-

The meeting was drawing to a close, when Percival brought up the topic that had plagued the thoughts of the knights for many a restless drink at the tavern.

“Actually Arthur, there was just one thing,” Percival paused, unsure of how to word his thoughts so they wouldn’t sound so pointed and barbed, and also rather amused at the looks being shot at him by the other knights. Arthur turned from where he’d been speaking to Gaius in low tones and raised an eyebrow, amusement clear on his face.

“Just the one?” It was an old joke among the knights, one brought about by years of quests being dragged on by townsfolk with just ‘one more request for such brave knights’. It caused a twist of something wistful within Percival, but allowed him what he needed to keep his tone from being confrontational.

“It really is just the one thing,” Arthur’s grin was all boyish amusement as he nodded to signify his acceptance. “Last month, when the lady from the north asked your opinion on magic,” Arthur’s grin shifted from boyish amusement to settle into something more wickedly amused. Percival did not like the feeling that grin gave him. “I was wondering if that was truly your thoughts or-,”

“Or if I said it simply for the sake of our alliance with the northern lands?” Percival nodded, the twist in his gut telling him that he knew what the answer was already. It was a feeling shared by all the knights at the table and for the briefest moment Percival wished he could take the words back.

From behind the king Merlin is almost frozen in place, needing to hear Arthur’s response but wishing with all his heart that he was anywhere but here so he could pretend all was unchanged for even a few minutes more. Arthur hums a little, searching for the right words before responding.

“While it may be true that I have no quarrel with those who have magic making a home on my lands, I would… prefer that they did not. And if they did, they would have to do so knowing that any uses of magic would result in them being dealt with.” The finality of Arthur’s words leaves no questions about how Arthur plans to deal with those who use magic in his lands.

Disgust curls heavy in Mordred’s stomach, clashing fiercely with the empathetic pain he feels for Merlin, whose shock is clear for anyone who looks to see. Not that anyone can with the looks being levelled at the king.

Then Merlin snaps.

“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe _you_!” Arthur seems taken aback by the location of the outburst and turns in his seat to see Merlin fully. The anger in Merlin’s features must finally get through to him for he begins to stand, facing Merlin fully.

“Are you questioning my judgement Merlin?”

“I am!” Merlin spat, voice raised in anger, “Lying for an alliance? To bed the daughter of a noble? What next-are you going to lie to get the mages into your court and murder them when they turn their backs?” Arthur’s scowl was near apocalyptic as he grabbed at the front of Merlin’ tunic. The knights scramble from their seats.

“You dare speak to your king like this? Know your place Merlin!” Arthur’s hand drew back as if to slap the young warlock, but froze on the downswing, gripped by an invisible strength. Everyone froze and underneath his angered flush Merlin paled. His magic was protective, yes, but he hadn’t realised it would go this far. Arthur’s mouth moved without a sound and Merlin could see his shocked silence making way for a heartbroken fury.

“No! No, no, no, no,” Mordred’s anguished voice cut through the moment and Merlin’s magic relented on Arthur’s arm, replaced for a brief moment by Mordred’s before the druid called it back to him. Arthur’s focus turned to Mordred and the fury was less heartbroken now. He dropped his grip on Merlin’s tunic and turned to fully face Mordred.

“ _Mordred_ ,” The young knight seemed frozen in place, eyes wide and a tremble starting in his hands, “ _You_ have magic?” Arthur’s hand was straying close to the sword he kept at his hip and the breath Merlin had tried to draw caught in his throat.

Mordred could see connections firing away behind Arthur’s eyes, drawing upon the worst possible conclusions but he would not relent his position. For all that he wanted Emrys to be confident in his magic and willing to use it more often he had never wished for Emrys to face the most negative of reactions to magic. And to face such a reaction from Arthur? From the king he had been dragging himself toward the grave for? He could not allow Emrys to be subject to that first hand. His expression steels itself and he forces the tremble from his limbs.

“I do.” The confirmation draws shocked gasps from around the table, but Mordred’s focus is on the king alone. He needs all the concentration he can for the spell he is preparing if he is not to hurt anyone with it. There was a time when he would not have cared who he hurt but that has changed now.

“And you thought to become a knight by my side? To what ends?” Arthur has drawn his sword and steps closer to where Mordred stands. Mordred smirks, a bitter expression that he hasn’t worn since his days with- “ _Morgana_.”

Mordred only inclines his head slightly in response, neither agreeing nor denying Arthurs claim. His gaze flicks to Emrys for a moment though nothing changes in his expression. Arthur makes to step closer again and Mordred throws his hand toward the doors, twisting his wrist and –

An explosion of sound, and stones thrown themselves from the wall. The hall fills with smoke and Mordred flees.

Frozen silence for one moment, two, and then-

“After him!” Arthur’s enraged roar broke the Knights from their frozen shock and they tore after Mordred. They had to find him before any of the other guards or knights did so. Yes, Mordred had come to them from working with Morgana but they didn’t believe that he had been working for her this entire time.

Before the divide began to form between Merlin and Arthur had begun they wouldn’t have thought this way. They would have dragged Mordred to the dungeons and left him there, muttering about how they always thought something was a bit off with him.  But that was before they had begun to actually talk to Mordred, to get to know him as they had and before Mordred had truly become one of them.

Mordred having magic was a surprise true. But what had Mordred used that magic for? To stop Arthur from striking Merlin and to escape. He had harmed none of them in his flight, even though doing so would have offered him more time to flee. They would find Mordred and keep him safe from the guards until they were provided with answers. Then they would go on from there.

They were Knights of the Round Table, loyal to their King. But they were loyal to each other first and foremost and it had been sometime since Arthur was one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... That happened.  
> Thank you all so much for your encouragement and what not. I'm seriously hoping to finish this story before the end of the year but who knows how likely that is.


	9. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears are shed and all dreams must end. Interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late chapter is extraordinarily late and also really short. Real life has not been kind and all the usual, but the year is not yet out and I really do want to draw this tale to a close before 2017 appears. As is, enjoy this brief interlude into the emotions of our favourite magic users.

Merlin had taken the opportunity of the scramble towards the ruined hall doors to leave via one of the serving doors. The door shut behind him and he leant against the stone beside it. There was a tremor in his limbs and a strange numbness to his thoughts. What had just happened?

“-erlin. Merlin!”

Merlin came back to himself with a start, Gwen’s worried features coming into focus before him. There were tears shining in her eyes and upon seeing Merlin focused she threw her arms around his neck. Merlin hugged her back just as tightly, ignoring the chill of her tears on his neck, as she would ignore the dampness on her hair.

Neither of them wanted to believe what had just taken place, but it was hard to ignore the truth in their shaken states. That Arthur had raised a hand in violence to Merlin.

They had known their King was changing. They had recognised that they would have to occupy different spaces in his life than they had previously. They had begun the process of accepting the new distance in their relationships. But they had done all this under the belief that the King they served was still the same Arthur they had loved for years.

An Arthur of boyish charm, and an innate kindness that saw him appreciating the efforts of everyone around him, regardless of their position.

That Arthur seemed like the creature of a dream now.

-

Mordred hadn’t fled too far, knowing as he did that the first response of the guard would be to head for the obvious exits and then turn their search inwards when they found no sign of him leaving the castle. He turned instead to the nearest serving passages, discovered during a sleepless night and explored through many more. These were most often used only during periods of high traffic in Camelot, when guests were to be entertained and there were too many in the halls for the servants to get their work done efficiently.

He made his way to an exit from the castle, something bitter twisting in his stomach when he realised where he had ended up. The same place from years earlier. When Morgana and Emrys had allowed him to flee rather than take him to Uther.

The thought of Emrys made his breath catch in his throat. He could feel the pain the warlock felt, screaming in his magic, but so carefully contained even when Mordred knew it wanted to hurt. It was difficult to keep his own magic contained, to keep it from responding to Emrys’ pain and attempts to comfort the warlock, remind him that he wasn’t alone in his hurt. He knew his relationship with Merlin had changed, knew it was better and that Merlin trusted him, that Merlin _liked_ him.

But he was still so terrified.

His life had begun to feel like something from his dreams, filled with friendship and laughter and the smiles of Emrys turned toward _him_. But all dreams came to an end and Mordred was terrified he had just ended his.


End file.
